Waving Not Drowning

On the fourth floor of a five story ancient walk up deep in the bowels of Chinatown, she climbs out of her single bed, scattering the dust on the linoleum as her feet hit the floor. She pads the twelve steps out her room, through the galley kitchen and into the cubby of a washroom. A sink so small she fills her hands to wash her face then douses herself while leaning over the tub alongside it, so as not to spill water all over the subway tiled floor. Various Chinese male voices can be heard barking at each other from above and below, tones shifting, guttural stops and moans; she can't tell if this is a good thing. The F train rattles overhead sending delayed vibrations up through the foundation. Sirens buzz on and off, cutting in and out; a jacked up Escalade rumbles through, stereo shaking the shampoo bottle perched on the narrow window shelf behind iron bars facing the world's smallest tub. She likes it here. Small enough to cocoon in but not claustrophobic. She feels safe he...

"You gonna post that one? yeah? What are you gonna say- you should say like, Benny finally meets someone age appropriate, ha! Wait, is it the one with her in the red dress? That's just crazy, you gotta post it. Hey- tag Benny in it. Oh, and David and Alan, Shannon and Ashley will go nuts!" Nathan is slumped across from Josh, texting away with thumbs like lightning, massively oversized watch sliding around his soft wrist. Boys weekend in New York and they've documented the entire gong show on facebook and twitter, hashtagging the victors and spoils. "Are you on wifi or are you using your data? You're gonna get hammered with roaming fees, you know that right?" The weekend in Vegas cost Nathan an extra $400 in data charges, most of which he rolled into the expense report. Josh and Nathan have figured out a way to write off their weekend exploits under the guise of research and development. When they're able, they rope in Benny, David, and Alan and wreak...

She's lost the map. It was around here a second ago. Ok, maybe two days ago or so but still, it's not like she threw it out. It's small, but noticeable: laminated, mutlicoloured, flexible. That was the point of buying it, so it would fit into her pocket yet fold out into something large enough to navigate by. That's the third thing she's lost in a week. Misplaced, hopefully. If everything happens in threes she's topped out, won the trifecta. Why is it the simple things are the most confounding for Ally? Pack a bag, write a list, fold the laundry. These things paralyze her when they go even slightly off center. She's doing better now, even Jordan thinks so. The CT and the meditation, the yoga and painting, all of it seems to be helping. Ally knows, though, she's simply built this way. There is no wrong, no right, just this. She stumbles and falters, begins again or changes focus completely and starts anew, somewhere, somehow, in some way else. Her own dir...

Just a quarter mile up the road you'll see it- the most beautiful sight you'll ever set eyes on. The way the ground swells up in a purple blanket of flax, gently swaying like a spent sailor knee deep in his cups. Oh this countryside, this road: wide open yet all encompassing. Close your eyes, drive for an hour, and you're still dead centre, hugging the yellow line. Where the sun sets high-fiving the moon, a cosmic baton pass of grandiose heights. Big sky country. Up and out and still, there you are. A speck of dust, a miniscule, microscopic organism waving in the wind while the clouds roil and rumble shades of orange and pink not found in your box of crayolas. Hot and dry and unforgiving. So cold skin splits and tears, breath crystallizes before the thought has left your mind let alone your mouth. So much space, so many miles of great wide open. Keep going, then go further. Eventually mountains, the ocean and shoreline appear but the same thought skips over and over, stuck ...

Is he going to be there. She wonders about that, about running into him in a city of millions of people, of countless neighbourhoods and boroughs, hidden pockets and sharp corners. Is he even still there. It's been a long time coming; years after the two and half years where they promised each other every day they would be here, in this city; partners in crime, living through shared lessons in life and love and loss; encompassing everything, enveloped in each other's beings. If he is still there, will he be hidden or in plain view. How will she find him. She'll turn around on the platform, crossing from one train to the next. He'll be climbing a stairwell as she descends; crossing the street, ordering a cup of coffee, wandering in Central Park, singing in Washington Square, sipping cafe au laits in Greenwich just like they planned when they were one, when he was her person and she was well met. She tries to forget but he keeps coming back to her, unexpectedly, in dreams...

I wish you'd let it go. Really. It was months ago, for crying out loud. Had I known at the time you'd  be hanging onto my every word like it was carved in stone, coming down from the mountain, I would have shut up before I started. It was just a suggestion, anyway. A casual remark, something I said in passing. No need for you to be so literal. I really had no intention of stirring up shite like this, regardless of what you may think. And look, it's fine now. It's almost grown back in and I would venture to say, it's healthier now as a result. Wouldn't you agree? I mean, all of that processing over the years catches up to you and really, let's be honest, we're not young- the whole chemical construction changes with age,  and hormones- just look at when the grey comes in, it practically stands straight up and screams LOOK AT ME, I'M HERE! Not that it's a bad thing, the grey- I'm not saying that, not at all but I just think one has to deal with ...

Shaking off the cobwebs. Not literally cause that would freak Angie out. Waking up in a strange place and wondering how the hell she got here. Again. One long road trip, night after night, anonymous hotels, motels, load in, load out. Hello Patchogue! How you doing,  Pawtucket! Weeks turn into months and big things like money and sales don't matter anymore. She misses her cat. She even misses G, her on-again off-again lover who right now more than anything she wishes was on again this tour. Careful what you wish for. It's hard to say no, having drank the kool aid as an impressionable, ambitious young artist. Always take the gig, go where the work is, it's all about the work, it's the only thing that matters. At the expense of everything else. No home, no family, no partner she can call her own. Emotionally, socially stunted. Even her cat prefers her neighbour. She would too really, seeing as he's home and remembers to change the litter every day. She's missed eve...

Fifty five minutes for a 5 minute errand. He just would not shut up. Heather was leaning out the door, bracing it open with her foot, about as subtle as a truck, trying to leave the store. He would not stop talking- about himself, his career, his pure potential. Heather's mentally calculating how late she's running for her 1 oclock appointment, trying to manifest a way to transmogrify herself via an imaginary telelporter to get to Chelsea in time.  Just Shut Up. An hour ago she was mildly smitten. He was a doppleganger of her ex, same ginger hair, dimpled chin, light blue eyes, perfect bow shaped lips, rare on a man. After twenty minutes of monologue all resemblance evaporated. His hands were small, nail beds torn and ragged, his neck showed premature signs of aging and a distinct lack of physical activity in his life. What was she expecting from a computer IT guy, not like he rips himself away from his motherboard to bust out a quick ten miler or 5 hour ride. All she needed wa...

Seventeen hours and thirty two minutes. Maybe more if  weather kicks in or the flight gets delayed. Then home. That's the plan. Two and a half months. Seventy four days, to be exact, but who's counting. Season's have changed, clock's have sprung forward and her trimesters have shifted. She has to let him know. Ethically there is no option, she understands this intellectually but Kelly's massive fear of confrontation overrides everything, including common sense and self preservation. Her entire life. Years playing flute because a saxophone simply wasn't an option. Fear of rejection, her need for approval at any cost, this defined Kelly's sense of self. Having a kid at her age, alone, with no partner is one thing but to willfully withhold that information, to purposefully avoid telling Stephen he's going to be a father- that's full on Jerry Springer. It's not like they're in a relationship, not according to Stephen. He made that crystal clear f...